


two shields, no swords

by Nomette



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Gen, Humor, Slice of Life, Terrifying Power Couple Ahoy, Wintersend, Wintersend Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 19:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10343043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomette/pseuds/Nomette
Summary: Sera, who had the best eyes of all of them, glanced through the spyglass and reported on the distant group. “Bunch of miserable looking bandits, seems like. No weapons, all tied up. Big knight in the back, real shiny looking. Red hair. Red shoulder-thingies. Big sword on her shield. Maybe it’s a templar?” She lowered the glass to find Varric and Cullen staring at her like she’d just announced Corypheus was coming up the road with a hundred of his friends.___Aveline comes to Skyhold.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hibernate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibernate/gifts).



> Written for the prompt "Aveline @ Skyhold. I would like her to come for a visit and hang out with all the Inquisition ladies. You do not have to include all of them, whatever works best for you and the story!"

At first glance, the group coming up the road appeared to be a group of bandits. The lone sentry posted on Skyhold’s walls squinted nervously through his spyglass, spotted a single gleaming shield amidst the throng of miserable bandits, and breathed a sigh of relief. The Orlesian shield meant that it was political, which put it above his paygrade. He ran down to Skyhold to fetch the Commander.

Varric, Cullen and Sera piled onto the ramparts; Cullen because he was the Commander, Varric and Sera for lack of anything to do. Sera, who had the best eyes out of the three of them, swiped Cullen’s spyglass and peered out at the road.

“Bunch of miserable looking bandits, seem like. No weapons, all tied up. Big knight in the back, real shiny looking. Red hair. Red shoulder-thingies. Big sword on her shield. Maybe it’s a templar?” She lowered the glass to find Varric and Cullen staring at her like she’d just announced Corypheus was coming up the road with a hundred of his friends.

“What?” she asked. Cullen grabbed the spyglass back and peered at the road.

“It’s her,” Cullen reported.

“Well, shit,” Varric said.

“Who?” Sera demanded. “Your ex-wife or something?”

“Aveline was the guard captain in Kirkwall,” Cullen said. “She’s an exemplary knight.”

“Yeah, then how come you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?” Sera asked. “Varric?” Varric was already gone.

 

Aveline was greeted at the gate by a ragged group of pikemen that looked like they’d never held a pike before, a short haired woman who was a thief if Aveline had ever seen one, and Cullen Rutherford, formerly known as Meredith’s fist, locally known as “if he looks at Bethany the wrong way again I’ll shove my fist up his ass, so help me Maker.” Hawke would have done it too; Aveline wondered if Cullen knew that the only reason he was still alive was that Aveline had spent three hours talking Hawke of out killing him. She’d thought that killing Meredith’s second in command - ha- might spark a war.

The next apostate she saw, she was going to arrest them on principle.

“Cullen,” she said, and took off her helmet.

“Aveline,” he said. They stared at each other. If Cullen wanted news from Kirkwall, he could ask Varric to make up something suitably comforting. “I brought you some bandits,” she said at last, and gestured to the men behind her. “Your roads could use some patrols.”

“Woo-ooh,” said the girl. “That’s a present. Got them all tied up too, like a little bow. That’s what templars are into, isn’t it?”

“Sera!” Cullen said. Sera ignored him.

“You nick all these yourself?” she asked.

“Wasn’t hard,” Aveline said. “I’ve had worse fights on the way back from the Rose.”

“Ooh, the Rose? You didn't strike me as that kind of girl, but…” The girl gave Aveline an obvious look-over. In a way it was almost nostalgic; she’d watched Isabella give people those kind of looks for years.

“It works better when I’m not covered in armor,” she said, and strode across the bridge. The pikemen got out of her way, then remembered they were supposed to be covering and huddled back together. Cullen trotted after her.

“What brings you to Haven, Aveline?”

“Politics,” she said, and sighed. “Your men could use some work.”

“We haven’t had time to regroup since Haven,” he said defensively. Aveline had heard about Haven in hushed whispers on the road. Really, calling a place Haven was just asking to be invaded. At least they’d closed the breach before naming Skyhold.

“My condolences,” she said. “I know how it is.” She rarely thought of the blight, these days, but she remembered it now- the endless mud, the darkspawn, the way her breath had rattled in her throat as she slogged through the fields of the dying. There was no justice in war or in a disaster, and what had happened at Haven had been both.

“Condolences, that’s fancy. That how you say you’re sorry?” That was Sera.

“That how I tell Cullen to fix his patrols,” Aveline said. “I’ll do them, if there’s no one else.” Cullen looked like he’d just been pardoned from an execution, but Aveline wasn’t doing it for him. The pikemen on the bridge couldn’t have defended against a nug. The first breath of resistance would blow them over, and Aveline was tired of watching good men die.

“Aveline…,” the little thief said, and trailed off. “From Swords and Shields! The guard captain! Cass loves you, she does. Oh, is he your templar?”

“Maker, no,” Aveline said. Cullen looked as horrified as she felt. He stammered out his intention to go back to his patrol and hastily headed back towards the gate. The maker take Varric and his friend fiction.

“Got rid of him,” Sera said. “Good riddance. So, Guard Captain, why are you here? Varric didn’t seem too excited to see you.”

“Varric knows I’m here?” Aveline said, and hurried towards the main building. “Maker’s ass.”

 

Varric was, predictably, nowhere to be found. Aveline rested a bit in the main hall in case he was stupid enough to come back to his desk, munching on the snacks he’d stashed in his bags, then headed for the camp. They’d find him, or they wouldn’t. Either way, Aveline was tired of being covered with blood.

Shower was a fancy name for a bucket and a vat of water so cold it might as well have been snow, but Aveline had had worse. After three weeks of walking she had dirt in every place she could have dirt, and worse, so did her armor. Aveline would be fine, but armor wore down, the joints becoming dangerously stiff and corroded. She stripped to her undergarments, dumped a couple of buckets over her head, and got started on her armor.

She was scrubbing blood off her breastplate- if she never saw another bear again she’d be glad- when she heard the sound of feet behind her. She turned. A tall, male Quinari missing an eye and a shirt had come in. His eye flickered, taking the whole scene in- Aveline’s sword, her armor, her figure, the buckets of water, the blood on her armor. Aveline tensed. The Quinari was probably supposed to be there, but she didn’t fancy her chances if she had to mud wrestle him.

“Carry on,” he said, and left.

“Same to you,” she said, and finished cleaning.

 

Varric still hadn’t been found. Aveline bundled up her armor and headed out to the courtyard to find somewhere to dry it. It was evening, the weak winter sun already beginning to fade, but it was better than nothing. She commandeered a training dummy in the yard as an armor stand and started to long process of buckling it up; she was mournfully contemplating her cracked rebraces when she heard someone walk up behind her and pause.

“Told you she was dressing it up,” Sera said gleefully. Aveline sighed and turned around.

“It needed somewhere to dry.” Sera had brought a second woman with her, one that Aveline vaguely recognized from somewhere.

“Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth. We met once, in Kirkwall, after the explosion.” Anders’ blasted explosion had turned all of Kirkwall into a month long riot. Aveline hadn’t slept more than two or three hours a day for weeks afterward. The whole month following the explosion was all mashed together in her mind, a single continuous mass of corpses and shields and debris. She’d met Cassandra somewhere in that nightmare, but if they’d said any words to each other, she didn’t remember them.

“I’m afraid I don’t remember you,” Aveline admitted. There had been some news about a Cassandra a few years back, something about fighting a dragon while riding on the divine or something. Aveline didn’t pay too much attention to foreign news. She had enough to deal with in Kirkwall.

“I arrested Varric,” the other woman said, her accent growing thicker. Maker, how had Aveline forgotten that? She’d been wanting to arrest Varric for years, not out of any particular hatred. No, Varric was just the sort of person who needed a little bit of arresting.

“Thank you,” Aveline said. “If you ever do it again, invite me. I could do with a bit of fun.”

“I did not arrest him for fun,” Cassandra said. “I did it to find Hawke!”

“And he lied you halfway down the block,” Aveline said, amused. “He does that. _Do_ you know where Hawke is?”

“No!”

“He’ll turn up eventually,” Aveline said, amused at the other woman’s temper.

“You seem remarkably calm, considering the state of the world,” Cassandra said. It wasn’t exactly an accusation. Aveline shrugged.

“I lived through the blight, darkspawn, blood mages, pirates, Quinari. If I got angry every time Hawke disappeared, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else.”

“I suppose,” Cassandra said. Her temper had faded, leaving her silent and embarrassed. Aveline waited, but when no reply was forthcoming, she started to turn back towards her armor.

“Don’t mind Cass,” Sera said slyly. “She’s just being awkward because she wants to know if you really did the pirate and the elf and the-”

“ **No** ,” Aveline said.

“I do not!” Cassandra protested.

“You read Varric’s books?” Aveline asked.

“I was investigating,” Cassandra said stiffly. She hesitated, then gestured towards Aveline’s armor. “You seem to have cracked your rebraces.”

“Bears,” Aveline said.

“Cass punched a bear once,” Sera piped up, obviously trying to embarrass Cassandra.

“Huh,” said Aveline. “Me too. My sword was stuck in the first bear.”

“The damn things are like flies,” Cassandra said, a smile lighting up her face.

 

It turned out that Cassandra and Aveline had a lot in common. They’d visited a lot of the same shitholes, heard a lot of the same remarks, fought a lot of the same people.

“Pirates,” Aveline said. After the sun had gone down, they’d migrated to the local bar and gotten drinks. Sera had been kidnapped by some of her friends, leaving Cassandra and Aveline alone in the corner comparing war stories. People kept bringing them beer; Aveline had lost track of exactly how much. It hardly mattered. She didn’t have any coin for them to get out of her. Cassandra, who had drunk most of the beer, was slightly inebriated. A dusty red had settled along her cheekbones, and she was smiling freely at Aveline as if they’d known each other forever. The firelight flickered along her skin, illuminating her fine, high cheekbones and the ridged scar along her face. Aveline couldn’t help but be suspicious. Lovely women didn’t come up to you and buy you drinks unless they wanted something, but Cassandra seemed content just to talk.

“Please,” she said, smiling despite the scorn in her voice. “I’ve been to Kirkwall. Of course I’ve fought pirates.”

“Fair,” Aveline conceded. She leaned in despite herself, matching Cassandra’s challenge. “Your turn.”

“Have you ever fought an alpha wyvern?” Cassandra asked.

“Fought one at a hunting party,” Aveline said, remembering the chateau with some disgust. “Nobles will do anything but help.”

“Some nobles,” Cassandra said.

“Oh, are you…?” Aveline asked. Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

“I’m surprised Varric hasn’t plastered it in one of his novels. I am a Pentaghast, but I leave that sort of thing to my relatives. Giant spiders.”

“Your relatives?” Aveline asked. Cassandra laughed.

“Yes, but only metaphorically. No, I was asking if you’ve ever fought them.” Aveline remembered the bone pit with a shudder.

“Yes. Dragonlings.” Cassandra laughed.

“Yes. Red templars.” Aveline had been present when Hawke fought Meredith, but she’d been marshalling her guard, not fighting against the woman herself.

“...no. Got me on that one. Plenty of normal templars, though.” Aveline took a moment to consider her next option. “Quinari.”

It was Cassandra’s turn to hesitate. “No,” she said at last. “Never seriously.”

“Ha!” Aveline said. “We’re one and one. Tevinter magisters.” Cassandra grinned.

“Yes. We have a Tevinter mage in the library, but don’t fight him. He’s delicate.” Aveline snorted.

“Like most mages. Darkspawn.”

“Yes,” Cassandra said, and smirked. “A high dragon, by myself.”

“Bullshit,” Aveline said. Cassandra grinned. The grin was a little feral, and it made Aveline revise her estimate of the other woman. It was the look of a woman utterly unafraid of combat, of someone who had caused havoc in her time and not regretted it. It reminded her of Hawke.

“I was fighting cultists,” Cassandra said. Her accent had thickened with the alcohol, but she had a slow, deliberate way of speaking. It was nice, Aveline decided. Unlike Varric and Isabela, who tried to overwhelm people with words, Cassandra simply tried to convey her point as clearly as possible. “They had plans to attack the Grand Cathedral. I was with a mage, Regalyan…” Aveline listened as Cassandra talked through one of the most ridiculous, convoluted tales of heroism she had ever heard. If she hadn’t seen some of the stunts Hawke had pulled, she would never have believed it, but the past couple of years had revised her estimate of what people could and couldn’t do.

Cassandra had just fought her way through a group of blood mages when Sera came over to the table. She’d obviously had something to drink while they were gone, and was swaying slightly. Little lightweight, Aveline thought. It was like watching a baby Isabella.

“Oi, Pally, settle a bet, would you? Do you think you can beat Cassandra in an arm wrestling match?” Cassandra’s blush was back, and worse than ever.

“What, and do all the work while you get all the money?” Aveline said. “Five bits for both of us from everyone who bets, or no dice.” This got Sera to go away, but she returned eventually with a large bag.

“The barman says he’ll forgive your tab if you do it,” she added, and plopped the bag down on the table.Aveline considered, then turned towards Cassandra.

“No,” Cassandra said. Aveline shrugged and turned back towards Sera. “That bag’s full of rocks anyway.” Sera stuck her tongue out and flounced back to her table.

“They do this constantly,” Cassandra groused.

“Could be worse,” Aveline said. “In the Hanged Man, someone would have been stabbed by now.”

“Even with you there?” Aveline snorted.

“Criminals and drunks don’t care,” she said, and shrugged. “I was more there to prevent the second, fatal stabbing, when the person who was hurt came back with all their friends. Mobs never think that anyone will stop them.” Cassandra’s eyebrows went up slightly, and then she smiled.

“So Varric was not lying about everything,” she said.

“What, did he make it sound heroic or something? He certainly wasn’t very helpful at the time.‘Look, they’re just having a bit of fun, Aveline,’ he'd say, while some poor sod was about to get hung up like a banner.”

“Varric has a talent for being unhelpful,” Cassandra agreed. “But his description of you was not... incorrect.”

“Oh?” Aveline said. She was interrupted by Sera returning for a third time, with a pouch that might actually have money in it.

“Three bits per person, and I won’t rat you out to Josie for your political whatsit, Aveline, or you to you know who for, you know.” Sera said, and sniggered.

“Fine,” Cassandra said, scowling.

In retrospect, neither of them should have been surprised when the table broke.

 

Aveline spent the night in a small space above the bar, in case Varric came back, and woke to sunlight and the bleary sounds of people filtering back into bar to drink off their hangovers. A quick jog outside revealed that no one had stolen her armor, though someone had drawn a penis on it. A little vinegar took care of the graffiti, and she suited up and headed for the kitchens. It was good to be within the walls of a castle, good to have clean armor and fresh food, good to go on her rounds again.

She spotted Cassandra on one of her rounds of the castle walls and waved. Cassandra waved back, paused, and then began the long jog from the courtyard to the castle walls. The light of day revealed her to have good armor and a light, confident stride, as if thirty pounds of metal was nothing to her. The seeker symbol was plastered across her front, an open challenge to anyone who wanted to take it. She looked like the very image of a knight, the sort of person Varric would make up for his books, beautiful and lethal. Instead, he’d chosen Aveline. Aveline had never been sure whether it was a compliment or an insult, his way of teasing her about her lack of social graces.

Cassandra, oblivious to Aveline’s scrutiny, jogged up. Aveline noted approvingly that her armor was well maintained, everything strapped and fastened properly.

“Good morning,” Cassandra said. “I should warn you that Jospehine has taken an interest in your appearance.”

“Josephine?”

“Our resident diplomat,” Cassandra said. “Those who call themselves diplomats are often a bunch of old has-beens, but Josephine is… formidable.”

“Then it is for the best that I will not be speaking with her,” Aveline said crisply. “I am going on patrol.”

“Already?”

“I promised Cullen,” Aveline said. This was a slight exaggeration, but Aveline did not want to speak with any diplomats. No doubt, they would be wanting to know what Aveline was doing in Skyhold, but she had no intention of telling them. It was bad enough that Varric had been elected Viscount of Kirkwall while he was out of the city; Aveline didn’t need to put an even bigger target than usual on his back.

“Ah,” Cassandra said, and hesitated. “May I join you? The Inquisitor is elsewhere today, and I have no task.”

“Go ahead,” Aveline said, amused. If the drinking the night before had affected Cassandra, she gave no sign of it. Aveline followed her out, and the two of them began a lazy stroll down the road.

“So, you had just escaped from the apostates…” Aveline said.

“Oh,” Cassandra said. A deep flush overtook her face. “I apologize for getting into this story last night. I should not have drunk so much.”

“So, it’s not true?” Aveline said, slightly disappointed.

“It’s true,” Cassandra said, and sighed. “I do not want to become one of those nobles who dwells unbearably on past glories. I did not do it for glory, or the Game, or Orlais, even. I simply did it because it needed to be done.”

“Well, tell me anyway, and I’ll try not to have any expectations. I saw Hawke kill a High Dragon, remember? Sometimes things need doing.” Cassandra nodded, then began. She was a better storyteller while drunk; sober, she tended to stumble over her words, but Aveline did not think she was lying. A liar would have come up with a more plausible story.

“So, you saved the Divine,” Aveline said once the story was finished. Cassandra sighed.

“Yes, for the moment. If Hawke had been at the Conclave…” Cassandra did not get to finish her sentence. A band of armed knights had emerged from the woods. Strange red crystals glittered on their armor. Cassandra drew her sword.

“Red Templars,” she said.

It was hard to judge the quality of a sword by watching it cut through butter, but Cassandra’s fight against the Red Templars did nothing to disprove her claim that she had fought a dragon. She moved like Isabella and struck like Hawke, her mace leaving great dents in the templar armor. They fell like cards scattered in the wind.

When the last Red Templar fell, Cassandra turned to Aveline.

“Your fortitude is impressive,” she said. “I have seen towers that were less stable.” In Isabella’s mouth, it would have been a taunt, a way to goad Aveline for being slow. But Cassandra was not taunting her.

“Thank you,” Aveline said. “You fight so well, I can almost believe you about the dragon.” Cassandra laughed.

“Come with me to the Hinterlands, and I’ll show you,” she said.

“I’ll add it to my schedule,” Aveline said.

 

After that, the days fell into a routine. In the morning, she would go out and patrol, removing any dangerous elements from the areas near Skyhold. Sometimes Cassandra would come with her, and sometime she would go alone. After her morning patrol, she would return and work with the recruit streaming into Skyhold, teaching them how to guard, how to hold a weapon, how to establish a chain of command, how to run an evacuation. Easy things, but Cullen’s recruits were all green. In the afternoon, she would hold a more advanced session, teaching the nobles and mercenaries the art of command. Her nights were her own.

A week in, the little diplomat finally managed to corner her as she picked her way through the castle. Skyhold’s layout was confusing, and Aveline often found herself lost. The diplomat accosted her on the stairs, as she tried to find her way down to the kitchens.

“It is not like Varric to vanish so suddenly,” Josephine said. “Perhaps if you were to tell me the reason for your mission, I might have better luck at finding him.”

“I have news from Kirkwall,” Aveline said, not unkindly. The diplomat looked at her expectantly. “News for Varric and Varric alone. And don’t bother searching my things, it’s not written down anywhere. Varric will turn up when he’s done with whatever he’s doing. I can wait until then.”

“Lady du Lac-” No one had called Aveline that in years. That name was buried in in Ferelden with her father, with the family legacy that Aveline had left years before.

“Aveline Vallen,” she said. “Excuse me.”

 

Cassandra found her in the garden later that day, a set of marigolds in her hand.

“You were not at your usual spot for lunch,” Cassandra said. Josephine’s remark had put Aveline into a foul mood, but that was no fault of Cassandra’s.

“It is an anniversary of sorts,” she said, thinking of her first husband. Years had passed, but Aveline still remembered. Aveline was not forgetful, and a husband’s death was hard to forget. It had been this time of year when they had run across the fields. It had been this time of year when Aveline had given him the mercy kill she would have wanted.

“An anniversary?” Cassandra asked.

“A thing I cannot forget,” Aveline said. “Excuse me. I will not be good company today.”

 

She did not talk to anyone that day, or the next, but on the third she went in search of Cassandra. Aveline had long been used to doing her work alone, to keeping people at a distance, but it was different, somehow, with Cassandra. Cassandra was easy to talk to, and easy to be silent with. Cassandra was always pleased to see her, for reasons that evaded Aveline.

She found Cassandra and Sera on the roof of Skyhold, eating apples and cheese. It was a bright day. Cassandra was not wearing her armor, and the short sleeves of her tunic showed off the fine muscle of her forearms, the length of her legs. Her face brightened when she saw Aveline.

“Aveline,” Cassandra said. “If I had known you were looking for me, I would not have ensconced myself on the roof with Sera and her stolen goods.” Sera snorted.

“I told you, they ain’t stolen. Kitchen gave them to me. Now the cheese, those are stolen, but Lord Pbbbttt didn’t deserve them anyway.”

“What did he do?” Aveline asked, climbing onto the roof.

“Why? Trying to decide if you should string me up? He called Dorian a blood mage, and Cass a necromancer, and accused Josie of trying to assassinate him. Now Dorian’s going to be mopey for weeks.”

“He will have to deal with Josie for the rest of his life,” Cassandra said grimly. “And he did say he was going to go see Vivienne, and if he is as rude to her as he was to us, that will be very short indeed.” Sera laughed, causing apple to spray out her mouth.

“Right. Hope that witchy pisser turns him into a stack of ice.”

“Enough ice around here,” Aveline said. “At least make him something useful, like a pisspot.” Sera broke into laughter.

“That’ll get some use out of him, alright,” she cackled. “Not what I’d expect from you, though. Thought you was some kind of super guard, but you’re just like Cass, aren’t you? Crazy.”

“I am not crazy,” Cassandra said primly.

“I saw you stick your sword in a rage demon, you can’t fool me. Got to be crazy to get anywhere near those things. And you like fighting mages!” Sera made a noise of disgust. Cassandra shrugged.

“The mages are easy. Once you get rid of their magic, they are as vulnerable to weapons as any unarmored man.”

“Must be nice to have Seeker powers. If I had them, I’d use them all the time, like bzzt, pow! No more mages, no more creepy stuff.”

“Seeker powers are not just for fun,” Cassandra said. “But I am tempted, sometimes.” The conversation went on. Cassandra and Sera spoke at length, talking about the other inhabitants of Skyhold, the guard patrols, the rumors that Cullen and Dorian were fucking. Aveline did not speak often. It was enough, somehow, to watch Cassandra, to see that she was well and happy, and to look at her, and for her to occasionally look back too.

 

Sera found her a few days later.

“Cass likes you,” she said.

“I know,” Aveline said, puzzled.

“No, not like that,” Sera said. “She actually likes you. Like she wants to kiss you and stuff. It’s driving me crazy watching the two of you makes eyes at each other. Ask her out on a date.”

“No,” Aveline said. “I’m married.”

“To a dead guy,” Sera said. Aveline scowled at her.

“How do you know that?”

“People talk,” Sera said. “You’re one of the Champion’s companions, big whoop. People know about you.”

“People do talk, but not about me. I don’t talk, and I haven’t mentioned Wesley in ages. There’s very few people who know about him. You… you’ve been talking to Varric.”

“Have not,” Sera said. It was the sort of automatic denial she’d heard a criminal make a million times. She tried to grab Sera, but the other woman dodged away, vaulted over a bush, and vanished in the halls.

“Think about it,” she yelled over her shoulder.

“No,” Aveline yelled. She was too old for this. This sort of thing was for young people, people who hadn’t sat through the whole damn mess of the blight and then Kirkwall. Aveline was tired. No one had caught her interest since Donnic, and that had been years ago. In the end, Aveline had never managed to do much other than annoy him and make herself a target for Isabella. Hawke had been busy. They all had, and so nothing had happened.

Time took everything away, sooner or later. Aveline was thirty, and she’d long since resigned herself to being alone for the rest of her life.

Hmmm. It sounded kind of bad when she put it that way. If Isabella had been here, she would have teased Aveline relentlessly about it, but Isabella wasn’t here. Isabella was gone, along with the whole rest of Aveline's friends, scattered to the wind by Anders’ damn explosion like so much debris. Everything they’d lived through, and that had been the final straw, the piece that couldn’t hold.

Fucking Anders. Aveline put her thoughts aside and turned towards the castle.

 

She went up to Josephine’s office and waited. To her credit, the little diplomat didn’t seem surprised, or annoyed, or overly eager. She just sat and listened while Aveline explained that she thought Sera knew where Varric was, or at least had some method of communicating with him.

“You’re sure this is the only way she could have found out about Wesley?”

“I am not a talkative woman,” Aveline said. “Particularly not on that subject.”

“I’ll ask Sera about it,” Josephine said. “Are you sure you don’t just want to leave a letter?”

“Trying to get rid of me? I already sent letters. I’m pretty sure Varric had them shredded. Thank you for your time.” Aveline bowed and left the office. She was halfway down the hall when she realized Josephine didn’t really outrank her; it was an old habit, from the days when the only person she’d ever had to make direct reports to was the Viscount.

 

She went out to the training field, where her men were waiting for her, and lost herself in the work. It wasn’t hard. Cullen’s soldiers were so sadly untrained, and Aveline could do nothing but good for them. Barely a week of sessions, and some of them were showing notable improvement already. The pikemen from the Anderfels had finally mastered the proper grip and movement of their weapon, and one of them had even scrounged up armor from somewhere. Aveline started their group on movement drills, then went down the line, correcting grips, stances, tightening straps, explaining maneuvers. The Kirkwall guard had a high turnover rate, and she’d taught so many people it had become second nature.

Halfway through the demonstration, Cassandra and Cullen wandered over to watch, accompanied by a tall, glittering Orlesian. Aveline, who had lived for years with Meredith’s madness hanging over her like a shadow, was unbothered, but the men began to slip. Aveline called a halt. They repeated the drills again, and again, and again, until Aveline was satisfied that they’d made a proper showing of their skill level.

Afterwards, Cullen nodded to her and went off to yell at the next batch of recruits, but Cassandra and the glittering noble converged on her.

“My dear, you have a gift for teaching,” the Orlesian said. “Cullen told me so, but I wanted to confirm our dear Commander’s sentiment for myself. He can be so… limited in his scope.”  
“Cullen is a fine Commander, Vivienne,” Cassandra said.

“The finest we have,” Vivienne said, her attention not wavering from Aveline. “Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montismard, at your service. I was wondering, do you have any experience teaching mages?”

“I taught Merrill staff-fighting,” Aveline said, startled, “but not more than that. What did you have in mind?”

“Vivienne has a small group that she is teaching to be Knight-Enchanters,” Cassandra interjected. “Their skill with swords is somewhat lacking.”

“What, exactly, does a mage need a sword for?” Aveline asked. Vivienne and Cassandra glanced at each other, and then Cassandra gestured to the empty field.

“I won’t go easy on you, my dear.”

“I would never expect you to,” Cassandra said. They walked onto the empty square and formed up like duelists, twenty paces apart. Cassandra drew her sword. At a gesture from Vivienne, a shimmering blade formed in her hand; it made a sound like high winds passing through an alley, like lightning. It made Aveline’s teeth ache.

“One, two, three,” she counted. On three, Vivienne moved. It was all in a blur, like a piece of wind, but Cassandra anticipated it. She dodged back, shouting a verse from the Chant of Light. A glow infused the battlefield, swords shining down from above. Vivienne blurred again, reappearing on the other side of the field.

“Good dodge,” Cassandra said, circling slowly towards Vivienne.

“Same to you,” Vivienne said, and moved. This time, their swords met. Aveline watched as the two of them went up and down the field with frightening speed, Vivienne attacking relentlessly, a shield glowing around her. Cassandra, impossibly, met each strike, shouting out verses and names from the chant of light, forcing Vivienne to jump back as she called swords and dispels down onto the shield. If Aveline had not seen Fenris in action, she would never have been able to track the action.

Finally, just when Aveline thought that one of them must win, the two separated, as if at a signal, retreated to their original distance, and bowed. A cheer went up. Aveline had not realized that so many other people had been watching. Cassandra and Vivienne waved politely to the crowd, then reconvened with her.

“I like the variation on the fade cloak,” Cassandra was saying.

“I’ve been experimenting with it,” Vivienne said. “Sera keeps tossing arrows down while I’m teaching, but they shan’t trouble me.”

“Of course not,” Cassandra said. It sounded like she was stifling a laugh.

“What was that?” Aveline asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“They call us Knight-Enchanters in Orlais,” Vivienne said. “My students are not so advanced, but the principle remains the same. I would, of course, be willing to compensate you, should you choose to turn your attention to them.” Her gaze lingered on Aveline’s cracked armor, but she didn’t say anything.

Cassandra, traitor that she was, abandoned Aveline to Vivienne’s negotiations. Aveline found her half an hour later, eating lunch in the courtyard with a book.

“So, what did you agree to?” Cassandra asked, pulling her book aside. Now that they were alone together, Sera's comments came rushing back in all at once. She likes you, Sera had said. Ask her out. Cassandra was looking at her expectantly, her beautiful face framed by her pauldrons, Varric’s damned book sitting on the bench by her side.

“I, uh,” Aveline said. She could feel herself turning red. “Biweekly sessions in sword training.”

“Good,” Cassandra said. “It will give your men a break.”

“My men? I’ve barely been teaching them a week.”

“Two weeks,” Cassandra corrected. Aveline had not noticed the days slipping by.  “And you are an excellent teacher. I could never be so patient.”  
“Have you really never taught?” Aveline asked.  Cassandra laughed.

“I have had only one apprentice, and that is more to his credit than mine. Seekers generally work alone. Large groups make it too obvious when one is launching an investigation.”

“And the huge swords coming from the sky don’t? What was that?”

“The Wrath of Heaven,” Cassandra said, and chuckled at Aveline’s facial expression. “Seekers learn all our abilities along with Chantry verses. The swords cancel the abilities of any mage caught near them. If Vivienne were trapped in such a circle, the fight would be over. They are… bright, but if a mage is attacking you, the time for stealth is over.”

“You are…” Aveline trailed off. Most of the things she wanted to say would make her sound like some kind of country yokel, so in the end she shook her head. “Impressive. How does one become a seeker?”

“That, I am afraid, is a secret.”

“Oh, of course,” Aveline said. “I’ll try not to hold it against you. If had enough secrets to last me a while.”

“I as well,” Cassandra said. She was smiling, but there was something a little sad in it. They sat there in silence, eating. Cassandra had grabbed extra food for Aveline. She was very pretty, and very skilled, and whenever Aveline looked at her for too long, she flushed slightly and looked away.

Aveline could just imagine the comments Isabella would make. She likes you, man-hands. Lucky you. Quit moping about your sad life and ask her out. You’re thirty, not a hundred.  Just say something!

Shut up, pirate hag, Aveline thought.

“Hmm?” Cassandra said. Shit, had Aveline said something out loud?

“I wanted to, um,” Aveline said, and fumbled her sentence. “I. Hmm. That is. I wanted to ask if you wanted to go... fight a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Cassandra said.

“I heard there was… one in the Hinterlands,” Aveline said.

“I see,” Cassandra said, looking faintly surprised. “I will have to get my gear together, but I will go.” A smile appeared on her face. “If I do this, you will have to believe me about Orlais.”

 

The final party that went out to confront the dragon consisted of Aveline, Sera, Cassandra, and a strapped-up mage named Dorian. Sera and Dorian hung back, gossiping, while Cassandra and Aveline marched in front.

“You said you fought a high dragon in Kirkwall?” Cassandra asked as they began their final trek into the dragon’s territory.

“It was in the Bone Pit, which was our local mine, but yes, I fought it.”

“Dragons, blood mages, apostates, magistrates, red lyrium, quinari… is there anything you don’t have in Kirkwall?”  Aveline considered.  

“A chantry.” A muffled laugh from Sera, and wingbeats overhead. The dragon had arrived. However scornful Cassandra might be about her family predilections, there was no fear in her face when she saw the dragon, only a fierce anticipation.

“Over here,” she yelled. Sera and Dorian scattered to the back corners. The dragon turned, slowly. A jet of smoke wafted lazily from its open mouth.

“Show me what you’ve got, Pentaghast,” Aveline said, and then the dragon was on them.

Afterwards, Sera and Dorian said that the fight had only been a few hours, but Aveline would have believed anything they told her.  There was no sense of time in a fight. The moments were counted not in minutes and hours but in wounds, in endurance, in the ache of her muscles, in the slowly growing gashes along the dragon’s flank.

Fighting alongside Cassandra was surreal. It had long been a maxim of Aveline’s life that no one was as sturdy as she was, that she was the one who protected, and yet. Cassandra did not need protection. Little as her sword was against the might of the dragon, she was unbothered by the raking claws, the jaws, the talons. She went into the fray unbothered, and fought, step for step, slice after slice, untiring.  

Slowly, so slowly, the great beast began to come apart. The movements became more frenzied, less direct. The claws lost some of their strength. Dorian and Sera remained in the back, throwing arrow after arrow and spell after spell, until, at last, the great beast tipped over, exhausted. Cassandra grabbed her sword with both hands and plunged it downwards. There was great rattle, a final exhale from dying lungs, and the dragon was still.

Cassandra stood on top of the dragon, blood smeared across her face, her armor, the image of a triumphant knight. She stooped, then pulled her sword out., glanced towards Aveline.

“Join me,” she said. Aveline took her hand, walked upwards. Kiss her, the Isabela in Aveline’s head whispered. Aveline was suddenly aware of the sweat pouring down her back, the way her hair was plastered to her face, her tattered Kirkwall guard armor.

“You are an excellent knight,” Cassandra said. She took Aveline’s other hand. Her face was very close. “You kept calling the dragon away from me,” she said.

“And you from me,” said Aveline. “We are a good team.”

When the kiss came, it stunned Aveline, though she had been expecting it. It had been a  long time since had kissed anyone. Cassandra stepped back, flushed, and stared up at her.

“I’m sorry, I did not…”  
“No,” Aveline said, and caught her hand. “I mean. Yes.”

“Yes to what?” Cassandra said. Aveline lifted her hand and kissed it, unsure of what to say.

“Yes,” she repeated, and drew closer to Cassandra. Cassandra’s face was filled with a wild, terrified hope, as if Aveline were somehow more terrifying than the dragon. The second kiss was better than the first. Cassandra’s hand was on Aveline’s shoulder, her other hand steadying her shield.

“We do make a good team,” she said.

 

~~~

 

Varric came back to Skyhold at midday with the crowds of pilgrims, and slipped up to his room. He was stuffing his papers into his bag when he heard footsteps on the stairs, and turned to find Aveline and Cassandra ascending. Neither of them looked particularly happy to see him.

“I had a nightmare that started like this,” he muttered.

“Varric Tethras, this is your official notice that you’ve been elected Viscount of Kirkwall, effective immediately. The city requests your presence as soon as possible.” Well, Aveline hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen her.  
“What, so they sent you to drag me back?” Varric said.

“Me?” Aveline said, and squeezed Cassandra’s hand. A dim and distant siren went off in Varric’s head. “No. I’m staying right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- Aveline does, in fact, arrest Solas and trigger Trespasser a few years early.


End file.
